Wednesday, June 26, 2013

It's been almost a month since I graduated and let me tell you, I feel free as a M-F bird. (Note: though I despise birds on account of their inherent sadism and gross tendencies, I do envy them for many reasons, mainly their ability to fly and access to fresh seafood.)

People keep asking me what I'm going to do next, so let me tell you: I'm not gonna do shit. At least for a little while. For those of you who didn't know, I worked full-time while I got my master's and continue to work full-time in the same position. I'm just smarter now. Or at least more elitist. #Harvard.

#whatshouldwecallme

Yes, eventually I will do something with my hard-earned degree, but right now I'm totally content knowing that if I want to go to happy hour on a Wednesday, no one can fucking stop me. And, I can't even tell you how good it feels to wake up on a Saturday morning and not have some HBR article looming over my head. Even though I was basically a POS kind of student last semester (fun fact: I was at one point failing one of my classes), just the idea of having homework was mentally draining. Now, the only thing I worry about on a Saturday morning is why no one's making me breakfast. But seriously, why?!

On that note, no matter how many times I ask, Boo outright refuses to bring me a sandwich. Good-for-nothing.

With all that said, those of you who really know me know that I get bored easily and also have a disgusting habit of filling up every single day on my calendar with some kind of activity. So, it's very very poss-ee-blay that I will take una classe in the fall. (Hint: it's probably going to be Spanish.) But it will be for fun. Because that's the kind of person I am.

In case you have been wondering, I wanted to let you all know that my Family Reunion IRL last weekend went swimmingly. Though it was pretty rushed, my cousin, Bridgette, and I had a glorious time together (speaking on her behalf) exploring both Brooklyn and Boston in less than 48 hours.

My weekend began on Friday morning when I got into my rental car to make the daring drive to Brooklyn, which, besides one to-be-told incident, is like any other drive you might make. Since I drive approximately three times a year, and the last time I owned a car was 5 years ago -- at which time I had a '92 Honda Civic that broke down almost every time I drove it and did not have a GPS since that would been worth more than the car -- I am the kind of person who prints out directions and figures out where I'm going before I get into a car, rather than relying on some BITCH robot. Despite the fact that I already told her I knew where I was going, she kept turning herself on to "help" me. Like, leave me alone, lady. I'm trying to concentrate on the road aka my music.

Then again, in her defense, Google Maps led us astray when it told us to take a left-hand turn where you're apparently not allowed to take a left-hand turn, which caused us to a) almost die in a car crash (praise be!), and b) get pulled over by a New York City cop, who seemed to speak no English really, yet reprimanded me for what felt like 30 minutes. After apologizing over and over again (read: blaming Google), he finally let me go with a disapproving look but no ticket (again, praise be!).

Ultimately, we got to Brooklyn safe and sound, and though it appeared we were staying in the ghetto (the only thing on the street other than our hotel was trash), we were assured by the locals that we were not. (Keep in mind that some of these locals also pretended to call the cops on us because our legs were "too sexy to be legal," so.)

The reason we decided to meet in NYC in the first place was to see The Postal Service. Of course, approximately 2 days after planning this trip, they announced that they would also be coming to Boston, but whatever. The show was awesome, although we basically had the worst seats ever. Who knew Barclay's was so big? Probably everyone. I did not.

Literally waving from such great heights.

As we were sitting down, Bridgette accidentally (and innocently) spilled some beer on the girl in front of her. And, instead of letting it go, the girl made a HUGE deal about it, badgering Bridgette and accusing me of not offering her my "paper-towel", which was actually my computer paper concert ticket. But even if it was a paper towel, I wouldn't have given it to her because, like, relax, girl. Your hair did not look that good anyway.

[This reminded me of the previous weekend when one of my friends spilled some of his drink on some girl at a back-yard, prom-themed party and she demanded that he give her $25 to get it dry-cleaned. First of all, what is dry-cleaning? I am unaware of such luxuries. Secondly, if you can't handle getting spilled on, then, like, probably don't ever leave your house.]

Anyway, the next day, we got real NY bagels, which were everything I hoped for and more (see: bacon scallion cream cheese), and we headed back to Boston. I felt compelled to show Bridgette things like the Public Gardens and Sam Adams' grave, instead of being like, "I've lived here for five years so I know all the cool hidden spots."

She got the awesome hair gene.

Besides the concert, our weekend basically consisted of eating, since I really don't know how else to entertain (or be entertained). While in Brooklyn, we met up with my internet friends turned real friends, Kim and Katie, for meats and cheeses.I had been told that two of Katie's male coworkers love me (most likely because they don't actually know me), so I was hoping this would be the moment we'd finally meet and fall in love forever (all three of us), but she arrived at the restaurant EMPTY HANDED.

But at least, and even better, she gave me this:

Cousins. IRL.(photo c/o Katie Ett @ ettible.com)

All in all, we had a fun, albeit quick, weekend. It was fantastic to meet and get to know someone (with awesome hair) I'm related to -- not only because I learned a lot more about my family's medical history, but also because my cousin happens to be a wonderful person whom I'd be friends with regardless of our DNA. Bonus: she lives close to Disney World.

Thursday, June 13, 2013

About a year ago... maybe two years ago... at some point in the past, I friended one of my cousins on Facebook. I think we met once when we were babies. Or, when she was a baby and I was a toddler. Look, I clearly don't remember the details. The point is, I haven't seen her in a very very long time. But, this weekend, we are reuniting in NYC and eventually making our way back up to Boston together in a rental car.

Given my experience with internet friends and internet dates, I don't find this weird at all. I think it's great. Also, we have a pretty fantastic weekend planned that includes Brooklyn, The Postal Service, Italian pastries, and cheese. And wine. Duh.

Speaking of Brooklyn, I am driving there and fully intend to roll up to the Holiday Inn Express that we're staying at playing Jay-Z. I feel like that's customary, right?

Oh, and speaking of driving, I do it like twice a year and never in New York City, so wish me luck. Are we going to die? Please say no.

Anyway, this is an example of how social media can be pretty awesome. Without it, I may never have bonded with my long lost cousin over musical interests and wizardry (and apparent nerdiness), and almost definitely would not be driving 3-6 hours to meet her at JFK, into which she'll be flying all the way from Florida just to hang out with me (and also to see The Postal Service).

Wednesday, June 12, 2013

I am turning 27 in a few days and I'm happy to report that I'm feeling really optimistic about it. This is good news because for a while I wasn't feeling so optimistic. That is because once you enter your "late 20s" all you can really think of is how you're approaching your "30s," which, for a while, seemed like the end of life to me (#drama). I saw one's 30s as a time of marriage and babies and suburbs, all of which accumulate into my worst nightmare at this current time (but I'm totally happy for all of my friends). Now that I know I don't have to enter that stage any time soon (by choice and also because I'm celibate as fuck*), I feel a lot better. I've also realized that 30 is three full years away, which is actually a really long time, especially when I think about all I've done in the past three years:

Is it trite to say that I think I finally feel comfortable with who I am? Like, I think I found myself, you guys! And that's probably the main reason why IDGAF about turning 27. And why I'm just ... happy? Yes, happy. (Not to be confused with content, which is simply boring.)

Briefly, let me tell you how I got here:

I stopped doing things I don't like to do. This one's pretty key. My roommate recently pointed out that I haven't taken a praxi in a long time -- a praxi (problem taxi) is my version of an Irish exit. I used to take them a lot, probably weekly. I don't anymore and that is because I avoid people and places I don't want to be around.

I started eating more than 60 calories for lunch. This is highly recommended. You know, on account of the health and stuff.

I was asked (and/or forced) to give presentations. Once you get over the initial fear, public speaking is a great way to feel really confident and smart, especially when you're in front of an audience that hasn't the slightest clue what you're talking about.

I became a feminist. So enlightening! You should try it. (Feminism is an equal-opportunity movement and does not discriminate on the basis ofrace, color, religion, creed, sex, sexual orientation, gender identity, national origin, ancestry, age, or any other protected status.)

I am self-involved. This sounds negative, but it's not. You can be self-involved and not selfish. At least I hope so. Do you, is what I'm saying.

Monday, June 10, 2013

2. Yet, I feel as free as a M-F bird these days.
3. Boo is extremely suspicious of his tail.
4. My best friend didn't take me to prom in high school. It's been a point of contention in our friendship for 9 years.

Making up for lost time.

5. I don't know what I will do or really even talk about now that Game of Thrones is over.
6. YOU KNOW NOTHING, YGRITTE.
7. I really wish I never labeled these as volumes.

Wednesday, June 5, 2013

"Let's bring slutty back!" That was my grand thesis at the end of the night after my graduation party slash many many (read: too many) shots. You're probably thinking that I was on the way to a one night stand or something, but no. I was on the way home to my cat and a deep dish pizza from Domino's.

Let's break here and talk about this pizza because I cannot even get over. It's possibly the best pizza out there, and I know you're totally judging me for saying that because it's from Domino's, but you need to CHECK YOURSELF and order one right now and experience that CHEESY BLISS.

Okay, back to sluts. My idea is a lot more virtuous than it sounds. Basically, I just want women to be able to hook up with people if they want to hook up with people and not feel guilty about it or be judged for it. Much like men.

Equality, yo.

Now, I've discussed this concept with a couple people and some of them have said that they don't think the double standard exists anymore, but I disagree. In fact, just the other day, my friend told me about how she met a guy, had a great time with him, and hooked up with him on the same night; and her follow up statement was, not surprisingly, "I broke my rule of prudence and am slutty." Do you think he thinks he's slutty? No! No, he doesn't. And furthermore, no one's slutty in this situation. People are just human in this situation. Sometimes Stella needs to get her groove on. And "rule of prudence" sounds so Victorian, which, despite its literary genre, is not a world I want to live in. Okay, okay, maybe an arranged marriage would be nice on account of the free housing (the rent is too damn high!), but that comes at the cost of not having any kind of organized plumbing system. Think of the smell! No one wants that.

So, let's embrace 2013 and do our thing. Now, I'm not saying go out there and be gross or anything. Wrap that shit up! But then, after that, get it girl.

Tuesday, June 4, 2013

I have to talk to you about Robb Stark, and you're probably not going to like what I have to say. I liked Robb up until the point he married that chick and then I thought he was a selfish idiot. There is no time for love in this system. Who marries for love?! No one. Women are sold off left and right and then hand-delivered by a gaggle of drunk men to a bedroom to be statutorily and/or "legitimately" raped by their new husband, and you CHEER THEM ON. I saw you. You clapped. Yet, you had the audacity to break promises and put your entire family (and war effort) in jeopardy to marry a hot girl. I know that in the book you're like technically 15 or something, so I get that you had "feelings" or whatever, but come on dude. When you're 15 you should also probably still listen to your mom, which you didn't, and look what happened, Robb. LOOK WHAT HAPPENED.

Then again, I love me a tragic hero, so thanks for filling that role. However, one day, I'd like to see the Starks shed some of their honor and fuck shit up. I'm looking at you, Arya.

Monday, June 3, 2013

1. I think I put more work into surviving an 11-hour graduation in 94 degree heat than I did actually earning my degree.
2. Oprah didn't give me a car or a unicorn or anything!
3. The best speech of the day was this one:

4. I should never take shots. No one should ever take shots. Shots should be outlawed.
5. Twice (twice!) a bar tender refused to take a cat sticker from me. Kind of rude, but whatever.
6. Tina Fey's book is much better than Mindy Kaling's. Mindy's is basically a disappointing collection of lists. It's also exactly like what my book would be if I were to ever write one.

(I still love her, though.)

7. I can't remember the last time I went to a bar and did not have a discussion about dragons vs. direwolves with someone.
8. Speaking of direwolves, Game of Thrones ruined my life last night, so.
9. LITERALLY ANYONE CAN BE KILLED.
10. But on the bright side, even considering the number of times I've been ditched by a guy, at least I'm not as big of a loser as Ygritte, right? Girl was dissed and dismissed.